


Cloak and Dagger

by Jerevinan



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Adrenaline, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Daggers, M/M, Noctis has it bad for Ignis in a cloak okay, ceremonial cloaks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 14:23:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12913746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jerevinan/pseuds/Jerevinan
Summary: Heat crept into Noctis’ cheeks as he thought about Ignis wearing that cloak. The words his father spoke—of duty to the people, of the bonds of brotherhood—all became a recited blur in the background.





	Cloak and Dagger

**Author's Note:**

> You know those cloaks the guys are wearing in that recently displayed concept art? Yes, that's responsible for this. Also, sorry, I know the title implies espionage, but...this is smut.

Noctis had never been one for fancy ceremonies and celebrations. His birthday, especially, marked a day he usually chose to stay home. Video games, take-out, and his best friends were all he needed for the passing of another year. The presents were always fun, too, and Ignis baked the best cakes.

After this, Noctis hoped Ignis would still make him one when he had a more private party with his best friends.

Eighteenth birthdays were a huge deal to the royalty of Lucis. It marked the passing into adulthood, and Noctis spent a great deal more of his free time than usual standing before a mirror belonging to the royal tailor. His hems were tucked and pinned with care. Not a centimeter of his garment could be ill-fitting and out of place.

Noctis preferred tees and jeans, so the entire ordeal meant special torture. Why fuss over him for something he would seldom wear and likely outgrow several times between then and his twenty-fifth birthday?

_Tradition._

It all came down to tradition. The city newspapers wouldn’t stop talking about it. While no cameras were permitted within the Citadel for the important ceremony, it didn’t mean journalists couldn’t line up outside and hope for a glimpse of Noctis returning to his apartment. He planned to stay the night and wait them out, but Regis promised him they would camp out there for days.

Noctis talked Ignis into bringing him more things and setting them in his old rooms. Even then, paparazzi hounded the advisor at the entrance until the guards could push them away from the car. The news outlets all behaved like a group of wild animals, willing to tear the car apart if only to glimpse the contents of the suitcase. 

They would eventually give it a rest. Noctis didn’t know how many days it would take, but they would all go back to their ordinary lives at some point. If he kept his life uneventful, that would make it easier for the transition. If there was one thing Noctis considered himself good at, it was doing nothing of importance.

He stood before the mirror, adjusting his cuffs, when Ignis entered his room. 

“I have your cape, Noct.”

Noctis turned to glance at the cape that was made for every Lucian King or Queen since the beginning of their line. It draped across Ignis’ arm, but his other hand adjusted all the ornaments attached to it. The ratio of gold and leather equaled that of the flowing black fabric. 

“I’ll put it on for you, don’t worry.” Ignis stepped forward and wrapped it around Noctis’ shoulders before adjusting all the various fastenings. His fingers smoothed out the fabric and straightened the collar. “There you are.” He patted Noctis’ back. 

Noctis studied it in the mirror. He didn’t look bad, but it carried a weight he had little preparation for at eighteen. Someday, he would step up in place of his father. Regis would have to pass on for that to happen. The thought left a sour feeling in his empty stomach. He should have nibbled on some crackers or had a small bowl of rice, but nerves had killed his appetite.

“It’ll be over soon,” said Ignis reassuringly. “The ceremony only takes about an hour, and the ball lasts until midnight.”

“That’s five hours.” They were only twenty minutes from seven, when the ceremony started. 

“I have no doubt you’ll find a way to slip out of it early.” Ignis smirked at Noctis’ reflection through the mirror, and Noctis laughed.

“You know me too well.”

“I’ll head with you to the ceremony, but I have to finish preparations as well.” 

“Oh, right. As a member of my Crownsguard.”

Ignis nodded and pretended to dust off the back of Noctis’ cape as a bad disguise for his gesture of comfort. 

“I’ll see you soon, Noct.”

“Yeah, see you there.”

~*~

Noctis thought his three retainers would be dressed in their Crownsguard uniforms, and did not think anything of it when he stepped into the throne room. The three of them were lined up alongside the left of the carpet laid out for the ceremony. But there was a change. All of them wore cloaks, the collars all outfitted with black feathers—down from a Zu, for those were not faux feathers like what one might have found on some novelty store scarf. 

Gladiolus and Prompto looked handsome in theirs, but it led Noctis to distraction when he saw Ignis standing straight with the cloak draped around his broad shoulders. They bowed their heads as Noctis passed.

Heat crept into Noctis’ cheeks as he thought about Ignis wearing that cloak. The words his father spoke—of duty to the people, of the bonds of brotherhood—all became a recited blur in the background. Noctis tried his best to focus on Regis.

“—and so shall they stand behind you.”

That was, indeed, where Ignis stood. Noctis steadied his breath and tried to focus on anything else. Of all the times to discover that not only were there some perks to formal ceremonies, but that he found cloaks—at least ones worn by Ignis—arousing…

Ignis had the time right. Noctis stood there for an hour, listening to his father’s words and going through the motions he had been taught since a little boy. He knelt down as his father crowned him, he drank his cup of wine, and he spoke his vows to the people. The vows were short, but Ignis had helped him write them. They spent hours in the library, poring over dusty texts recording the previous speeches given by princes and princesses. 

“You are no longer a child, but a man,” said Regis. “You must live your days in service to the people.”

Those were the bits Noctis didn’t want to think about—a life bound to the ring, the Crystal, and the wall—and he dared a quick glance at Ignis for only a brief moment of distraction and reassurance.

“You do not walk this path alone, my son, but stand tall and broad against the darkness so that you shall be the light.”

“I will,” said Noctis, bowing.

His father turned to their audience to inform them of the end of the ceremony, stating that they would dance for the rest of the evening. Although there might have been some princes and princesses who had been excited to spend their eighteenth birthday in such a way, Regis had confided in Noctis that he too had not cared for the fuss during his passage into adulthood. Noctis grew up on stories of Regis stealing away with Aulea and a bottle of champagne until Clarus found them drunk on the rooftop and herded them back to their rooms before Mors caught wind of his son’s activities. The story varied based on who told it. Clarus always said the two were loud, and Regis swore they had traversed the night halls of the Citadel with barely a whisper. Noctis was inclined to believe his father had made Clarus’ job difficult, especially when drunk people often did not realize they were being rowdy.

Noctis didn’t plan to do anything as reckless. Skipping out on most of his meals made him feel a bit weak, and he needed to nibble on something. There would be some food available at the tables around the dance floor. He would grab enough to restore his energy. Maybe steal some of the sweets, even if they wouldn’t be as delicious as Ignis’ cakes.

“Ready, your Highness?” Ignis approached Noctis.

“Sure.” 

While the ball room held more people, those who had been sardined in the throne room spread out to dance and loiter in wide circles. Noctis couldn’t pass a single person without them reaching out to congratulate him. This differed greatly from the previous dances he had attended as a child, where the celebrations focused on holidays or his father, and he could dive beneath a tablecloth with a plate of sweets.

This time, he had to shake many hands and stand around for small talk. Even after years of practice, he didn’t know what to say, and so he listened. Not wanting to be rude, he didn’t move toward the tables, but thankfully, servers carried around platters of alcohol and hors d'oeuvres.

Between a bit of food and alcohol, his nerves settled. Three glasses of champagne left him feeling light on his toes, and he drifted among the crowds until he was certain he had spoken with everyone. A couple of young women asked him to dance, and Iris, too, but he did a sloppy job. No matter how often he practiced his steps with Ignis, he would never have the ease and flow of his chamberlain on the dance floor.

Iris pouted when he stepped on her toes.

“Are you drunk, Noct?” She glowered up at him with fierce Amicitia eyes.

“Not much,” he admitted. “I can’t dance.”

“I can tell…”

The preteen abandoned him for a dance with her father, and Noctis circled around the room in search of Ignis. He snagged another glass of champagne from a server and sipped on it.

He found Ignis with Algernon Scientia, Ignis’ uncle. He no longer wore the cloak. Where had it gone? 

He moved into the circle and pretended to listen to their conversation. It had something to do with the library in Tenebrae’s Fenestala Manor, and how Algernon had once seen it in his younger years—years before Noctis had been born. The topic didn’t carry on for long. Algernon was interrupted by a call from his daughter.

“Well, if you’ll excuse me,” said Algernon, “I have to check in on your aunt. It seems she’s having a bit of back trouble after dancing.”

Ignis waited until Algernon was out of earshot before he turned to Noctis. “Are you ready to go? You’ve held out longer than I anticipated.”

Noctis snagged Ignis’ wrist and stared down at his watch. Ten thirty? “Woah. Guess it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”

“You did well tonight. Would you like to stay?”

“Hell no.” Noctis tilted his head. “Where’s your cloak?”

“Oh, I returned it to my old rooms here.”

“Let’s fetch it, first.”

Ignis didn’t ask any questions, and Noctis had to be grateful he didn’t bring it up in the ball room where someone might overhear. They passed an excuse about needing to fix a button to the guards standing at the exit, but the two only smirked knowingly at them. 

“Princes will be princes,” muttered one as Ignis and Noctis hurried down the corridor and away from the music and crowd.

When they were children, Ignis’ rooms had been placed next to Noctis’ so the two only had a short distance to cross when they needed one another. Ignis offered Noctis comfort during nightmare-plagued evenings when they were little. 

This time, it meant not having to go out of their way to retrieve the cloak. Noctis didn’t see any reason why they had to leave Ignis’ room at all. He shut the door behind him and leaned against it, palms flat against the painted wood. A finger smoothed over the flow of the grain beneath.

“Put it on,” said Noctis when Ignis picked the cloak up from the back of his chair. 

Ignis obliged. A puzzled expression crossed his face. “Are we sneaking out? You know we shouldn’t do that. The paparazzi are sure to notice.”

“No, we’re staying in.” Noctis reached up and flipped the lock. The alcohol loosened his tongue and his desire. “You look good in that.”

“Thank you. Is that why you wanted to see me in it again?”

Noctis gave a short nod before he crossed the room. He slipped his fingers through the feathery collar, snagging the fabric to which the down was sewn, and pulled Ignis closer. Their lips crashed together, releasing a surprised moan from Ignis.

Ignis didn’t fight him, but when they slipped away, he frowned. “Are you drunk?”

“I wasn’t at the ceremony,” said Noctis. “And you looked beautiful then.” 

He ran his fingertips across one of Ignis’ shoulders like a pianist tapping at invisible woolen keys.

“Noct…”

Noctis stared up at him through his eyelashes, smiling. The look disarmed Ignis, as it had often done for him over the last year since they started secretly dating. He peppered Ignis’ jaw with kisses, the Zu feathers tickling against his throat. 

Noctis led Ignis to the bed and lowered down to one knee, pulling his boyfriend down with him. The kiss that followed made Noctis hope for more.

“Leave the cloak on,” said Noctis. “And take everything else off.”

“I daresay you’re more interested in the cloak than me,” teased Ignis.

“If that were the case, Gladio and Prompto would be with us, too.” Noctis ran a thumb across the satin-soft skin of Ignis’ lower lip. “I only thought about you.”

“The entire time?”

Noctis blushed. “A bit awkward standing next to your dad when all you can think about is your boyfriend naked in nothing but a cloak.”

“I’m sure no one noticed. I didn’t.”

“I wish you had. Bet it would’ve made you squirm.” Noctis reached over and began to unsnap the topmost button of Ignis’ trousers.

Ignis unbuttoned and slid off his shirts while Noctis worked off his pants. As Noctis tugged them down, along with Ignis’ briefs, he lowered to his knees. An erection proved that while Ignis might not have been as hot and bothered as Noctis in the throne room during the ceremony, he certainly had gotten caught up in the scene as it played out.

Noctis licked from base to tip before cupping one hand around the shaft and taking Ignis into his mouth. Ignis’ fingers grasped at his hair, lightly tugging just enough that it made Noctis’ cock twitch. 

“Noct…”

Noctis went deliberately slow, having used the past few months to practice. His free hand grasped at the soft flesh of Ignis’ backside, leaving red lines in the wake of his nails. He could feel Ignis weakening beneath his work as he orgasmed, warm seed spilling into Noctis’ mouth.

Ignis leaned against the mattress, and Noctis stood up, licking his lips. 

“Do you have condoms? Lube?” The last time Ignis slept in that room had been as a teenager, but perhaps one too young to have sexually experimented. And if he had, Noctis doubted he would have had the courage to sneak a partner into the Citadel.

“Actually, I do.” Ignis gestured to his luggage. “I packed some, just in case.”

“You know me…”

“I do.”

Noctis dug them out of the toiletry bag and set the bottle and packets of condoms on the bedside table.

“Can you help me out of this cape?” asked Noctis when Ignis had recovered.

He watched the way the thick fabric of the cloak fluttered around Ignis’ naked body as he circled around and removed Noctis’ cape. The rest of his clothes followed.

“Don’t be afraid to use our safewords or signals,” whispered Noctis as he leaned in toward Ignis’ ear. 

“Of course.”

He led Ignis back to the bed. Once Ignis was on his back, Noctis lowered on top of him. Ignis wrapped the cloak around them both as Noctis nipped bite marks into his yielding flesh at his pecks. Ignis gasped, his breath hitching and chest rising beneath Noctis. It made Noctis want him even more. He breathed in the scent of his cologne and admired the shape of his chamberlain’s face.

Noctis straddled Ignis with his legs and lifted his arm up suddenly. The cloak pooled about his hips and began to slide away entirely as Noctis summoned a dagger out of the armiger.

The sudden flash of light widened Ignis’ eyes, the blue sparks reflected in his pupils. When Noctis thrust the blade though the mattress next to Ignis’ head, Ignis bucked his hips up in response to the sudden adrenaline rush. Noctis followed up quickly with the second dagger, sending its blade piercing through the mattress at the other side.

Ignis cupped the hilts of the blade with his hands as Noctis scooted between his legs. Noctis tore open the condom and rolled it on before he applied a liberal dose of lube, fingers scissoring inside of Ignis.

With the help of the daggers, Ignis raised his hips up, and Noctis guided his way inside of him. He started gentle, but he could see from the pleading glint in Ignis’ eyes that he needed to go faster. He thrust, admiring the way the feathers collared Ignis’ neck. 

A Crownsguard ceremonial cloak, draped around _his_ Crownsguard. All for him. The thought made Noctis thrust deeper and harder. Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead. He tightened his grip on Ignis’ thighs.

Ignis spent first, coming hard enough that it spilled across his torso and some of the fabric of the cloak resting against his chest. Noctis closed his eyes, flashes of light dancing across the back of his lids as he came. 

He rolled in next to Ignis, lowering himself onto the cloak. An arm hooked around his shoulders, pulling him into a tender embrace.

“Best eighteenth birthday ever,” said Noctis once he caught his breath. He wiped away the sweat on his forehead with the back of his arm.

“I have to agree,” admitted Ignis. “That was…”

“Amazing.”

“Yes.” Ignis sighed. “But I don’t know how to explain the mattress to your father.”

Noctis’ eyes widened. “Shit. I didn’t think about that.”

“We’ll say it’s a sparring accident.”

Noctis laughed. “He might believe that. He might not.”

“I’m more worried about the cloak. It is _not_ machine washable.”

Noctis had to admit he didn’t care about the condition of the mattress, but he did hope they could get the cloak washed and use it another time in the near future. He sent the daggers back into the armiger with a wave of his hand and leaned in closer to Ignis.

“It’s fine,” he whispered before leaving a kiss just south of Ignis’ ear. “We’ll figure it out in the morning. For now, let’s just enjoy this.”

He closed his eyes and wriggled closer to Ignis’ body. 

“Happy birthday, Noct.”


End file.
